‘Eh bien,’ said Poirot. ‘It is possible that publicity may do what private efforts have failed to do. The whole country now will be looking for A B C.’

‘Unfortunately,’ I said, ‘that’s what he wants.’

‘True. But it may, all the same, be his undoing. Gratified by success, he may become careless…That is what I hope—that he may be drunk with his own cleverness.’

‘How odd all this is, Poirot,’ I exclaimed, struck suddenly by an idea. ‘Do you know, this is the first crime of this kind that you and I have worked on together? All our murders have been—well, private murders, so to speak.’

‘You are quite right, my friend. Always, up to now, it has fallen to our lot to work from the inside. It has been the history of the victim that was important. The important points have been: “Who benefited by the death? What opportunities had those round him to commit the crime?” It has always been the “crime intime”. Here, for the first time in our association, it is cold-blooded, impersonal murder. Murder from the outside.’

I shivered.

‘It’s rather horrible…’

‘Yes. I felt from the first, when I read the original letter, that there was something wrong—misshapen…’

He made an impatient gesture.

‘One must not give way to the nerves…This is no worse than any ordinary crime…’

‘It is…It is…’

‘Is it worse to take the life or lives of strangers than to take the life of someone near and dear to you—someone who trusts and believes in you, perhaps?’

‘It’s worse because it’s mad…’

‘No, Hastings. It is not worse. It is only more difficult.’

‘No, no, I do not agree with you. It’s infinitely more frightening.’

Hercule Poirot said thoughtfully:

‘It should be easier to discover because it is mad. A crime committed by someone shrewd and sane would be far more complicated. Here, if one could but hit on the idea…This alphabetical business, it has discrepancies. If I could once see the idea—then everything would be clear and simple…’

He sighed and shook his head.

‘These crimes must not go on. Soon, soon, I must see the truth…Go, Hastings. Get some sleep. There will be much to do tomorrow.’

Chapter 15

Sir Carmichael Clarke

Churston, lying as it does between Brixham on the one side and Paignton and Torquay on the other, occupies a position about halfway round the curve of Torbay. Until about ten years ago it was merely a golf links and below the links a green sweep of countryside dropping down to the sea with only a farmhouse or two in the way of human occupation. But of late years there had been big building developments between Churston and Paignton and the coastline is now dotted with small houses and bungalows, new roads, etc.

Sir Carmichael Clarke had purchased a site of some two acres commanding an uninterrupted view of the sea. The house he had built was of modern design—a white rectangle that was not unpleasing to the eye. Apart from two big galleries that housed his collection it was not a large house.